Father's Sins
by miss skinny love
Summary: Ron just wants to keep his Rose safe from that disgusting Death Eater's son. Bloody Malfoys.


Round 12 (QLFC) Kenmare Kestrels

Chaser 2 — write about Ron's relationship with one of his children

(word) ferocious

(object) skull

(dialogue) "Is that the amulet he/she gave you?"

 _Notes:_ Too tired. In the midst of exams. Trying to finish a story for a reader. Too tired. Did I say that already?

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 _Father's Sins_

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"Is that the amulet he gave you?" he barked.

Rose blinked. "Yes," she said slowly. "It is." She raised a hand to touch it. It was a beautiful thing — the delicate silver chain matched oddly well with the heavier, intricately engraved amulet. A small emerald was snuggled deeply into the centre.

"You're not honestly going to keep that, are you?" He bristled. "Say the word, Rosie, and I'll teach that Malfoy his place. I'll leave right now."

"No, Dad," she shot back somewhat irritably. "We've been through this. He's my friend." She clenched and unclenched her hands.

"He's also a Death Eater," he murmured.

"For Merlin's sake, Ronald, leave her be," her mother rebuked, hands deep in her curls as she fought with her wild, giant hair. Hermione Weasley smiled at her daughter. "The sins of the father are not the sins of the son. Besides, Draco's changed. You should get to know him better."

"Oh, it's Draco now, is it?" her dad said jealously.

"Really, Dad. It's Yule," Hugo complained from his spot on the couch.

"Yeah, alright," Ron relented. He sent one last scorching look to the amulet dangling from Rose's neck and then flicked his wand to clean up some present wrappings.

"Come on, everyone," Hermione said. "I don't want us to be late. I think everyone else is already there."

"They're not," Ron said lazily, shooting Hugo a grin. "We're talking about Harry, here."

Hermione paused. "You have a point."

One last look was thrown at Rose's amulet. "Did it have to be green?" he whined.

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Lunch was delicious, in Rose's opinion, but Grandma Weasley had cooked, so that was no surprise. What had been a surprise was that Scorpius and his dad were there, too.

"I'm happy to see you, of course," Rose whispered to Scorpius. "But Dad's gonna flip when he finally notices you." She sent a look down the length of the table, to where her dad was roaring with laughter as he talked to Uncle Harry.

"Yeah, well, I'm used to his glares," Scorpius said, rather bravely, in her opinion.

"Why _are_ you here?" she asked curiously, twining her red hair around her fingers.

"I think it was your Mum," he admitted. "She invited my dad."

Rose's eyebrows shot up. "I wonder why …" she muttered.

"Maybe it's because we're friends," he offered. "Or, yunno, your Mum is just inviting over a fellow colleague from work." "Hmmm," Rose hummed. "Maybe."

So it went. Food, music, family, friends.

Then it all went to Hell in a handbasket, of course.

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Her dad was drunk. Her mum was in the garden, somewhere, with Luna and Ginny. Uncle Harry was … well. She wasn't entirely sure.

What she was sure about is that her dad was in her face. His Firewhisky breath was in her face.

"I want him out of here," he raged. "Both of them. Father and son. They could be planning something. Who knows — maybe the amulet he gave you as a Yule present is cursed. I need to protect you. You should take it off, just in case."

"It's not cursed," she said levelly.

"You know his father gave a cursed necklace to Katie Bell. She almost died because of him," he said angrily. "He was trying to kill Dumbledore. Dumbledore!"

"That was his father. Not Scorpius. And that was a different time. You need to move on, Dad." She tried to lower her voice, to soften it, to be kind to her father, who sometimes looked so worn and tired and wretched for all that he was still so young.

"Have you seen Draco Malfoy's Dark Mark?" he asked.

"No."

"No. You haven't. You haven't seen that snake, twining around and through the skull. You've seen nothing, Rosie. Just trust me," he slurred out. "I'm just tryin' to keep you safe."

She shook her head. "I know, Dad." She walked forwards and extracted the bottle from his hands, and then guided him into the comfy armchair that resided in the Burrow's lounge. "You should sleep, Dad."

His mood switched again, as quick as the wind. "Why did you invite Malfoy, anyway?" he bit out. "You can't trust Malfoys, Rosie, I've told you this. I've told you. You need to trust me," he slurred. "You didn't see what we saw, Rosie. You dunno what these Death Eaters are like. You're only fifteen."

"I'm not a child," she said, and raised her chin imperiously. "And you need to stop treating Scorpius the way you have. He's my friend, and he's not a bad person. You're just blind to that fact."

Something sad and sentimental washed over her dad's face, as quick and fleeting as dirty drainwater. "Your mum always did say I was bad at seeing what's right in front of me."

"I feel that she's right," Rose said boldly.

Ron snorted and settled deeper into the chair. "You're ferocious, just like your mum. It's for the best, I think. You're clever and strong like her. It'll keep you safe."

"Mmmm," she said. She grabbed a blanket off the sofa and threw it over him. "Sleep, Dad, okay?"

"Mmmm," he said, just as she had a few seconds earlier. "What'd I do to deserve you?" He raised a hand up and petted her arm awkwardly. "Love you, kiddo."

"Love you, too, Dad."

"And if that Death Eater — "

"Not a Death Eater."

He snorted. "If that Death Eater's son annoys you, just say the word, hm? Uncle Harry and I'll sort him out. We'll show him … " He gave a massive yawn.

"Sleep," she encouraged, and he closed his eyes, and she stood to leave.

"I don't want you to see the skulls that I see," her dad whispered.

"What?" she asked, but he was already sleeping.

She hesitated, feeling oddly vulnerable, and then left to go find Scorpius. Maybe a game of Gobstones or something would cheer her up. It wasn't good to feel this way — and on Yule, of all days.

Still. Her father's words weighed heavy in her mind.

 _I don't want you to see the skulls that I see._


End file.
